


VBS (Very Boring Sh!t)

by mellow_dramatic



Category: Rick and Morty
Genre: Gen, Racism, Religious Fanaticism, Teen Acting Out, Teen Angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-28
Updated: 2017-08-28
Packaged: 2018-12-21 00:09:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,976
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11932227
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mellow_dramatic/pseuds/mellow_dramatic
Summary: Beth sends Morty and Summer to church after coming into contact with a fundie former friend from high school. Some stuff happens, but not much. Rated for some bad language.





	VBS (Very Boring Sh!t)

It all started when Beth decided to go to the supermarket.

A person might wonder why, of all things, she would go to the store for shoelaces. Most of the time she wore slip-on shoes - white Keds to work or the ugly black non-skids Jerry bought her for their last anniversary, before their separation.

Their separation. Their impending divorce. As soon as Jerry quit his sniveling, decided to man up and sign the damn papers, she was going back to using her maiden name. 

Sanchez was certainly among the most common last names for Hispanics, but at least it wasn’t Smith. Beth almost felt sorry for saddling her children with such a tiresome, plebeian surname. Almost.

Like it or not, though, they were Smiths. If at some point in the future, they chose to fill out all the paperwork to have their names changed, good for them. If not...good for them. She was certainly going to change her name, and after buying the laces, she was going buy new shoes, too.

She was going to get rid of those hideous non-skid shoes, but first, she was going to drive to the park where all the townspeople played with their pets. She was going to slowly meander through the fields, caking the bottom of those shoes with dog shit.

Then, she’d probably just buy another pair of Keds to wear when she wasn’t working. Good thing she’d have plenty of spare laces. One never knew when they’d come in handy.

Beth was so fixated on her obsession with shoelaces that she didn’t realize someone was trying to get her attention. The someone got their wish when they tapped on her shoulder, which elicited a startled yelp and an expletive that Beth usually never uttered in public. Though she lived in a relatively progressive Midwestern state, it was still a pretty small town, and she had her reputation to consider.

The encroacher of her personal space was none other than Tina, her former best friend from high school. They had not seen nor spoken to each other in nearly 20 years, not since Beth had pity sex with and was impregnated by Tina’s boyfriend.

“Beth Sanchez, is that you! Why, I never expected to see you of all people again. How are you?!”

Tina’s tone was just as shrill and insincere as it had been when they were teenagers. She spoke, for some reason, with a distinct Southern accent evocative of the Old Dominion. Beth didn’t give a shit, but for the next several minutes Tina explained what she’d done for the last 20 years, in excruciatingly boring detail.

After their misunderstanding, she had been heartbroken, but her daddy got a new job offer and transplanted the family nearly 3,000 miles away to Richmond, Virginia. Not long after their move, Tina was invited to church by a nice boy at her new school. She went, not expecting anything to happen but, well, the Lord works in mysterious ways, and when the preacher gave the altar call she got saved!

After graduating high school, she had married the boy - his name was Tom or John or something similar - and in the fullness of time had two children and became a stay-at-home mother while her husband worked some menial, low-paying job that barely put food on the table.

However, Tina gushed, they were well-supported by members of their church - and by extension, the American taxpayers. Tina had returned home to visit her parents, who had recently also been saved, and were now attending church.

“What about you?” Tina asked. “What have you been doing all these years?”

In short order - that is, in the span of a few sentences - Beth explained: “I have two kids with Jerry. I’m a horse surgeon. I live with my kids and my father. I’m getting a divorce.”

Beth struggled not to roll her eyes at Tina’s fake sigh and the pompous way she shook her head. “I’m so sorry to hear that,” she said. She reached into her purse, fumbled around a bit, and pulled out a small brochure. “If you’re interested, my parents’ church is having a Vacation Bible School next week. It’ll be fun for the kids, and they might even get saved!”

“Whoa, whoa, hold on a minute!” Beth fumed, snatching the brochure out of Tina’s hand. “What makes you think my children aren’t _saved_? I’ve been taking them to church for years.”

It wasn’t a lie, technically. Jerry, who had been raised by devout Christian parents, had wheedled Beth into taking Morty and Summer to church at least twice a year for Christmas and Easter. They groaned and rolled their eyes for the most part - just last year they had both spent the entire Christmas Eve service playing on their phones - but they had gone, at least.

“Perfect!” The self-righteous grin on Tina’s face made Beth feel the urge to punch her. “It starts at 6:00 Sunday night. Of course, you’re all more than welcome to attend the service Sunday morning. The address is on the back of the invitation. Oh, this’ll be so exciting, I can’t wait for our kids to meet!”  
__________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Predictably, when Beth introduced the topic at the dinner table that night, it was greeted with a chorus of disappointed groans. Morty folded his arms on the table and lay his head down. “Aw jeez!” he muttered, his voice slightly muffled. “D-do we...do we really have to go?”

“Pfft!” Summer blew a raspberry and laughed. “You might have to go, Morty. But, in case anyone’s forgotten,” - she cast a glare in Beth’s direction - “I’m an adult now, and I can make my own decisions.” She flipped her hair over her shoulder and turned her attention back to her phone, where she began to tap out a text.

Abruptly, Beth yanked the phone out of Summer’s hands. When she opened her mouth to protest, Beth squeezed her lips shut with her thumb and forefinger. “Listen,” she said calmly. “I was your age once, believe it or not. You may think you can do whatever you want, whenever you want, but let me tell you this: As long as you live in this house, you will do as I say.”

Summer pulled herself out of Beth’s grip. She scowled and balled her hands into fists at her sides. “I’m not going. Grandpa Rick needs my help with something next week, don’t you?” She gave him a plaintive, pointed look, but Rick was reading a newspaper. 

Summer cleared her throat, and when that failed to catch Rick’s attention, she sat back down and pushed her plate off the table. It hit the floor and shattered, but even that didn’t make Rick look up. Beth grinned in triumph and sat back down, thinking the matter was settled. Desperate, Summer picked up a fork and stabbed Morty’s arm. The boy’s pained yelp did the trick.

Rick glanced up from the paper. His eyes narrowed when he saw the four small bloody puncture wounds on Morty’s forearm, and the tears welling in his eyes. “You stabbed your brother,” he said blandly. “Why the fuck did you do that?”

“Helloooo!” Summer rolled her eyes and pounded a fist on the table. “Your daughter’s trying to make us go to _church_. For an entire week! Something about ‘Vacation Bible School.’ I tried to tell her about that thing we’re working on -”

“There is no ‘thing,’ Summer. I’m not bailing you out just ‘cause you’d rather - _urp_ \- stay home and watch some dumb reality show. Listen, I’ll be the first one to tell you how boring and lame church is - a massive waste of time. But that’s a tale for - _urp_ \- another time. What this boils down to is disobedience.

“I mean sure, you’re 18 years old, just graduated high school. I bet you think you’re pretty slick, with your high honors and being waitlisted at Stanford, but - _urp_ \- let me tell you something, kiddo -”

“Thanks, Dad!” Beth interrupted. She kissed Rick’s forehead and stood up, towering over Summer. She stuck her finger in Summer’s face, and her own pale complexion reddened as she spoke. 

**“Look,”** she growled, spittle flying in her daughter’s face, “I have just about had enough out of you. The clothes you wear, the phone you waste your time on, the food you eat, the fork you stabbed your brother with - _even the toilet paper you wipe your ass with_ \- everything in this house is _mine_. You can do whatever you want when you go off to college in a few weeks, but until then, you do what I say...and I say, you’re going to that goddamn church!”

Summer was quiet, but she glared at Beth. Rick, who had begun to disinfect and bandage Morty’s arm, hummed nonchalantly as Summer got up. “Thanks for nothing, Grandpa!” she hissed. She huffed and left the kitchen, stomping her feet with every step like a spoiled child.

“There!” Rick patted Morty’s forearm, admiring his handiwork. “This baby’s made from the webbing of Schwarfian spiders. Toughest fiber in the galaxy.” Morty looked horrified at the mention of spiders, but cracked a smile when Rick ruffled his hair. “Th-thanks, Rick.”

“Well, if dinner’s over, I think it’s about time I -”

“You know you’re going to that church too, right, Dad? I think it’ll be good for you to go as a sort-of chaperone. A little bonding time.”

Rick blanched. “Aw honey, you know I’d love to go with them, but I have so much stuff I’ve gotta work on -”

“You’re going, Dad. That’s final.”

“Aw, dammit!”  
_________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________  
Blessed Hope Baptist Church was a storefront church at the strip mall. It occupied the space recently vacated by a consignment store. There were about a dozen cars lined up in front. Summer parked the Honda beside a small white bus with the church’s name written in bright gold paint.

In spite of her irritation, Summer laughed. “Ha, short bus!” she muttered. Morty couldn’t help but laugh, too, but Rick was not amused. “C’mon then,” he groused, unbuckling his seatbelt. “Let’s get this shit over with.”

They entered the building to find a setup similar to that of a lecture or presentation. Instead of pews, there were about 25 black padded folding chairs, arranged in rows fanning out from the central platform. About a dozen people - of which about half were kids - milled about talking. The kids ranged in age from 5 to 18. The men and boys wore suits, ties, and cordovans, while the women and girls wore long-sleeved blouses, cardigans, and skirts that reached their ankles.

One man in particular was thrilled to see them. His eyes lit up, and he strode quickly toward them. “Well, y’all must be the Smiths!” He crowed, grabbing hold of Rick’s hand. He shook it vigorously, not noticing the murderous look Rick gave him. “I’m John Thompson, Tina’s husband.” He released Rick’s hand and spread out his arm behind him. “The boy in blue’s my son, Josiah. The girl in blue beside him is his sister, Jerusha. Y’all, come say hello to the Smiths!”

The Thompson kids came to stand beside their father, regarding them with blank, cautious stares. “Hello,” the boy said boredly. “Welcome to Blessed Hope,” Jerusha added in a similar monotone. “Th-thanks,” Morty smiled awkwardly, wondering what the heck they were supposed to do now.

Rick broke the silence with a loud belch. The Thompsons’ eyebrows collectively rose. “Ac-actually, you got it wrong. I _-urp-_ mean, the kids are Smiths, but I’m a Sanchez. You know, as in Beth _urp_ Sanchez, who used to be your wife’s best friend? Yeah, I’m Beth’s dad.”

“Saaan-chezzz…” Mr. Thompson drawled. “That’s Mexican, ain’t it? But you’re all so... _white_.” He was so deep in thought, his face scrunched up and eyes nearly closed, that it looked like he was constipated.

“Um, yeah to both,” Rick slurred. “My father was Mexican, but my mother was white. So I’m ½ Mexican, Beth’s ¼, and my grandkids are ⅛. S’there some rule about having - _urp_ \- white skin to come here?” Rick abruptly shoved his arm right in the man’s face. “You can see - _urp_ \- how pale my grandkids’ skin is. Well - _urp_ \- how’s mine? A little too - _urp_ \- olive for your tastes? C’mon kids!”

Summer was so relieved she was already out the door before Rick even turned around. “W-wait, Rick!” Morty squeaked when his grandfather took hold of his shoulder. “We c-can’t just l-leave! Wh-what about Mom?”

“Morty, you’re a good kid,” Rick praised. He continued to push Morty toward the exit. “Unlike your sister, you basically - _urp_ \- obey your mom, no questions asked. Well…” he paused, and belched to bide his time until they were all outside.

“The thing is, Morty, this so-called ‘friend’ your mom saw at the store isn’t really her _urp_ friend anymore. All those people you just saw, they’re alien agents doing _urp_ reconnaissance for their leader. Tryin’ to scope us all out to _urp_ find the ones who are weak minded and prone to mind control.”

“Aw j-jeez, Rick, what are we gonna do?” Morty’s eyes widened with fear. “H-how are we gonna warn the others?”

“It’s too late for that, Morty! I got you out in time, but the others have to figure it out for themselves. You and Summer are the only ones I care about.”

“Aw, th-thanks, Rick. B-but, shouldn’t we warn Mom?”

“Don’t worry about your mom,” Rick assured him. “Don’t worry about anything. Just leave it all to me.”  
__________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

When he went down to the kitchen for breakfast the next morning, Morty was surprised to see that Rick was the only person at the table. He was tinkering with a tiny device that vaguely resembled a matchbox. Morty filled a bowl with corn pops and milk, and poured a glass of orange juice. Rick was so engrossed in what he was doing that he didn’t notice he was no longer alone until Morty sat down beside him.

“Hey Morty,” he greeted. “You see this thing here? This is what’s gonna solve your little church problem. _Church…_ ” he spat out the word as his face twisted into a mocking sneer. “No grandkids of mine are gonna be subjected to that superstitious bullshit! Beth might as well have sent you to be lobotomized.”

“B-but Rick, I th-thought you said they were evil aliens spying for their leaders.”

“I did say that,” Rick conceded. He set the device down and turned to Morty. The look of bewilderment on his grandson’s face was priceless. He laughed and tweaked Morty’s nose in a rare gesture of affection.

“I say a lot of stuff figuratively; the problem is that you take everything too literally. I’ll explain it to you, and I’ll use simple words so you can understand: those people -” Rick paused and frowned as he searched for a way to describe them - “Those people act really sweet and nice to you so they can get you to join their group. But, once you’re part of their group, they move on to the next outsider. They basically stop giving a shit about you.”

Rick reached into the pocket of his lab coat for the small flask of whiskey he kept there. Morty’s face sank as Rick unscrewed the lid and took a deep swig. It wasn’t often that he had Rick’s attention when he was sober. Usually, he was already three sheets to the wind by the time Morty came down for breakfast.

Rick misinterpreted his grandson’s sullen expression. “Look, I’m sorry to burst your bubble. What’s true of those religious types is true of people in general. For the most part, they only care about themselves.”

 _For the most part_... Morty turned the phrase over in his mind. He hoped that Rick was talking about himself. Maybe - just maybe - for once he had actually done something out of love for his grandkids, and not just out of the embarrassment he would have felt if he and Summer had decided to become religious.

He suddenly remembered that Rick hadn’t fully explained how the contraption worked. “Hey Rick? How exactly does that thing ‘fix’ our little ‘church problem?’ ”

Before Rick could answer, Summer shuffled into the kitchen. Wordlessly, she flung herself down on the chair beside Morty, picked up his glass of orange juice, and took a sip. “That’s mine,” Morty protested half-heartedly. “Get your own.”

In reply, Summer leaned in close to Morty and belched, blowing rancid morning breath into his face. “Eww!” he pinched his nose and scooted his chair away from her. “God, Summer, can’t you be a decent human being for once in your life?”

Summer grinned and picked up her younger brother’s bowl of cereal. Her nose wrinkled a bit at its contents, but she pressed the rim to her lips and began to drink the milk. Morty watched silently as she drained the bowl, leaving only a few crumbs in the bottom, and set it back down in front of him.

“Put that in the sink and run some water in it. I totally would, but I have places to go and people to see. Later, loser. ‘Bye, Grandpa Rick.”

Summer left as suddenly as she came. Morty stared at Rick, who returned his gaze with a bored frown. “I know you’re prob- _urp_ -ably expecting some complicated - _urp_ \- solution to the ‘church problem but - _urp_ \- all I did was alter everyone’s memory. You and I are the only ones who know what happened. As far as - _urp_ \- your sister knows, she spent all day yesterday packing for college.”

“What about Mom?”

Rick smiled at the sound of Beth ambling down the stairs, and the front door opening.

“I’ll be back in an hour or so. I’m going for a run to try out the new shoes I got yesterday.”

**Author's Note:**

> This drabble is very loosely based on my own experience with VBS, as well as my encounters with ultraconservative, fundamentalist Christians.


End file.
